


Better In Time

by Naomida



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Invaders (Marvel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Amnesia, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:58:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14507337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naomida/pseuds/Naomida
Summary: Jim wakes up in a hospital room with no memory and a faded out soulmark.Things, unexpectedly, get better from there.





	Better In Time

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally my Summer 2016 project, but I was forced to stop working on it when I lost a family member and by the time I could write again, summer was over and I was ready to write other stories.
> 
> It was almost over, so I thought I would finally finish it, so there you go: my very precious Amnesiac Soulmate AU

Jim had known he was screwed for ever the day he had woken up without a single memory of his life and a man named Doctor Horton smiling gently at him while trying to get him to stay calm and not have a panic attack.

It had been ten months already, and it was still hard to go through life everyday wondering how it had been like, back when he remembered what he liked and disliked, and having to face the sad disappointment of every person in his life who had known him before the accident – if being hit in the head repeatedly with a crowbar by a guy who called himself Red Skull could be called an accident.

Doctor Horton had told him that it was a miracle he was still alive, but Jim had been more curious about the fact that he was a cop and had been trying to arrest that guy when that had happened.

Then a fifteen year old had run into his hospital room, tear streaks on his face, and had literally threw himself at Jim and hugged him tight enough that it hurt his ribs a little.

The boy, Toro he had been told later, had sobbed against his shoulder for a while before finally looking up at him with awe and smiling brightly.

“I'm so glad you're okay Papì. Don't you _dare_ to this to me ever again.”

Jim had just nodded, heart squeezing uncomfortably in his chest as Toro had buried his face back against his shoulder to cry some more.

It there was a thing he _knew_ he could never forget now, it was the face Toro had made when Doctor Horton had told him about Jim's memory. The raw sorrow and despair in his eyes as he had turned to Jim – who was his _father_ , and how horrible was it to actually forget _his own child_? – and had bitten his lip until he was bleeding, trying to keep his tears and sobs in check.

Jim had hugged him on instinct, and it had seemed to be the right thing to do since Toro had melted against his chest and gripped him like his life depended on it.

There had been other people in the room, his friends whom he did not recognize at all, Steve, Bucky, Jacqueline, Roger, Brian, Namor, and all of them looked devastated, but now that Jim knew more about each one of them, he wished he had payed more attention that day at the hospital.

After all, he was screwed no matter what, but if just maybe he had seen something a little earlier, he could have done something, anything really, to unscrew his life _just_ _a little_.

 

 

***

 

 

The soulmark on his collarbone was white, faded out, and said “ _I would have never pictured a guy like you in a place like that._ ” in tiny, italic letters. Doctor Horton had said that it happened sometimes, when people _lost_ their soulmate – which probably meant when one died or something. With him, because of his amnesia, it was a little more complicated, because both Toro and Steve had assured him that his mark had been totally okay and deep black before he had lost his memory.

They had also said that they didn't know about his soulmate, that he had never said if he had met them or not.

Jim hoped he hadn't, wasn't sure he could forgive himself for forgetting them.

 

 

***

 

 

“You know,” said Toro that morning after Jim had put down his packed lunch in front of him and run his fingers down the back of his head without even thinking about it, “It's weird how you sometimes do stuff that you used to do without even remembering.”

“Sorry,” muttered Jim, sitting down on the chair in front of him, cheekbones burning up in shame as he looked down at his cup of coffee – he still wasn't sure he even liked it black.

“Don't be, it's cool to know that you're still there, somewhere,” replied the teenager, shrugging a shoulder and refusing to meet his gaze when Jim looked up at him.

A pang of guilt immediately tugged at Jim's guts, because even ten months later, he couldn't help but feel like he had abandoned him, _his son,_ who had had to live through five months of coma before Jim had finally woken up without even knowing who he was.

Jim couldn't even begin to imagine what if must feel like, and despite his best efforts if felt like he couldn't do much besides let Toro down again, and again.

“I'm going to Bucky's after school, by the way, so don't panic if you don't see me,” said Toro after long minutes of tensed silence.

“Alright,” nodded Jim, because there wasn't really anything else to say.

Bucky and Toro were best friend since the day they had met, and Jim had managed to fill in the blank without needing Steve to tell him everything – even though Steve had, because it seemed like he had made it his personal mission to help Jim settle into an unknown life as much as he could.

“You're gonna be okay?” asked Toro after a second of hesitation, tentatively looking up to meet Jim's gaze with uncertain eyes.

S ome days, it felt like he didn't know how to not walk on eggshells around Jim.

Jim knew that feeling.

“Yeah, don't worry,” he replied, smiling as broadly as he could. “I've got work to keep me busy and Jackie said she would come by if she could.”

“Good,” said Toro, smiling softly and nodding.

Jim nodded back for a moment before starting to feel like an idiot and drowning his coffee down in two big gulps just so he could finally step out of the kitchen.

 

 

***

 

 

The one thing Jim had felt appealed to do after finally leaving the hospital and being taken to a house he owned and felt like a stranger in, was repair cars.

There was a rusting Renault Dauphine sitting in the small garage attached to the house, and Jim had spent his first month out of the hospital trying to make it work again. Once it had been done, he had repainted it in bright red and redone the interior.

“You always said you wanted to work on it but never found the time,” had commented Toro, the very first time they had taken the car out for a ride around the city.

Jim hadn't known what to say to that, but he had asked Steve about his love for car and had learned that he had worked at a small garage in his hometown all through high school and college.

“Maybe I should open my own garage,” he had replied, completely spontaneously.

Everyone he was supposed to know was so overjoyed by the fact that he had finally made a decision for himself instead of waiting for someone to fill in the blank for him, they had all helped him redo the old garage downtown that had been abandoned for the past forty years, or so he had been told by locals, after he had bought it.

Several months after buying it, and he didn't regret it one bit. Working with cars came totally naturally, without him even having to think about it before he knew what was wrong with the engine, and it also felt like his safe space.

There, covered in motor oil from head to toe and with no one to talk to all day long, he finally felt like he wasn't a big disappointment. And the fact that no one was expecting anything from him since he hadn't been working there before losing his memory was a huge bonus.

 

 

***

 

 

That day, he worked all through the morning on a Honda that had been brought in two days earlier. The owners were a couple of young people fresh out of college who were soulmate and planning on getting married the summer after the next.

Jim had only talked to them for all of twenty minutes, as they had explained the problem with their car and he had told them what he could do and how much it would cost after taking a quick look at things, but their love, the kind that screamed  _together for ever_ , had made him want to cry and throw up.

He had spent ten minutes after their departure locked up in the garage's small bathroom, bare-chested in front of the cracked mirror, watching his faded-out mark.

Everyday, he wondered what kind of person his soulmate had been –  _was_ .

 

 

***

 

 

“Roger and Brian are _sickening_ and I need a holiday!” loudly announced Jackie, striding in the garage trough the big door, her heels clicking loudly on the concrete floor.

It was half past four in the afternoon, Jim had given the couple their Honda back and was now wrestling with a Ford whose engine was more rust than anything else.

She was wearing an all-beige pantsuit and Jim raised an amused eyebrow at her choice of clothing, not that he wasn't starting to get used to it now.

Jacqueline was the only one not acting like Jim was going to break any second and did not handle him with kid gloves and he really respected that, although the situation must have been as painful for her as it was for everyone else.

“I'm glad to see you managed to find time out of your busy schedule to come see me dressed like that,” he said, straightening up because he was tired of bending over that piece of junk.

He grabbed a rug laying close by and tried to wipe at the oil on his hands, only managing to spread it around as Jackie threw his overall a disgusted look.

“Sorry if my sense of style offend you, but yes, I did manage to come, but I'm here for business.”

“Is the Lamborghini giving you trouble?”

She rolled her eyes and tossed him a keyring that he barely managed to grab before it shattered the Ford's windshield with the force of the throw.

“An Audi?” he asked, looking at the logo on the key.

There was a keychain of a shark with it, and he knew she would never put that kind of thing anywhere near any of her stuff.

“It's Namor's and he's being a pissbaby about it, so I took matter into my own hands and brought the car myself.”

“Did you tell him beforehand?” Jim felt the need to ask.

She just smirked and put a hand on her hip.

“Just repair the damn car and do something about the fact that his dashboard only speaks German.”

“Okay,” said Jim.

Nodding, Jackie spared his outfit another critical look before she turned on her ext r emely high heels and started walking to the same door she had walked in.

“Oh, by the way,” she called right before leaving.

Jim stopped in his movement of bending down over the engine once again to send her a surprised glance.

“What?”

“Just… call him, okay? He's taken the amnesia thing very badly and I'm pretty sure the two of you still haven't talked at all ever since you woke up.”

Jim just blinked at her as she finished her sentence by a resolute nod and left.

He liked the fact that she didn't go easy on him, but it almost always left him stunned and not really understanding exactly what was going on.

 

 

***

 

 

Jim was watching some stupid lawyer show on TV when Toro came home that night, banging the door closed behind him and entering the living-room with a huge sigh.

He let his backpack fall  on the floor next to the coffee-table as he flopped down on the couch next to Jim, and his father just raised an eyebrow at his pout and the huge red bruise on his neck.

“Do you have a hickey?” Jim couldn't help but ask after two minutes during which Toro just sighed, again and again.

“Yeah, and it's probably the last one I'll ever have, because Ann broke up with me _again,_ ” he whined, his pout growing stronger.

He crossed his arms as Jim bit down on his lower lip, trying not to laugh because he had read a lot of parenting books and blog  post s and  _knew_ that making fun of his son's terrible love-life was a  _bad_ thing to do.

It didn't change the fact that Toro's bi-monthly break-ups with Ann were always funny as hell.

“Why is that?” he managed to ask in a semi-serious tone.

“She says I pay more attention to Bucky than her and feels like maybe I should date him if I want to hang-out with him so much.”

Jim laughed out loud at that, he just couldn't help himself, not with the way Toro's whole face was scrunched up.

“Oh my god...” breathed out Toro, staring at his outburst with bulging, delighted eyes. “ _Are you laughing at me_?”

“I am so sorry!” exclaimed Jim, still laughing and tears of mirth starting to prickle at the corners of his eyes, “I'm trying not to but _your face_.”

And Toro was the one who whooped and started to laugh happily about it. In fact, he jumped to his feet and started dancing around the tiny living-room in joy, a huge smile splitting his face in half.

“There he is!” he said, pointing an index in Jim's general direction, “There. He. Is!”

Jim only thought about it for a beat before he got to his feet and started dancing too.

 

 

***

 

 

It was only several hours later, while he was laying in his bed, staring at his dark ceiling in the dead of the night, that he realized Toro had been happy because he had acted like a real human being with him, and the fact that this strong and adorable kid was so happy because Jim was  _laughing at him_ was breaking his heart all over again.

 

 

***

 

 

“Hey, hey, hey!” called Steve, smiling brightly into the morning sun.

Jim smiled back, locking his car's doors, and crossed the street to join him.

“What are you doing out so early on a Sunday morning?” asked Steve as they started walking side by side on the sidewalk.

“Toro's eaten all of the bread and cereals so I have to buy something to eat before I die of hunger. What about you?”

“I don't have enough floor for Sunday pancakes,” replied Steve, smiling.

Jim nodded and they walked into the convenience story in silence.

Steve politely asked him about work, and told Jim about his when Jim replied and returned the question.

Some details about him were still fuzzy, even though he was the only one, along with Toro, who took time to always tell him about his former life that he had forgotten.

Basically, he knew that Steve was ex-military, now working as a painter and owning a small gallery in town. He was Bucky's legal guardian, but Jim had no idea how they knew each other and what had happened to Bucky's parents – Steve grew way too pale and stammered his way out of talking about it the few times Jim brought it up, and he didn't dare ask Toro about it yet.

The one thing he was sure of, though, was that Steve was a real friend. He sincerely cared about Jim and wanted him to live as happily as he could without any memories, and Jim was immensely grateful for that.

That still didn't explain why, as they were passing in front of the ice-cream and yogurt section of the store and he asked him: “Were Namor and I close?” there was a slight stutter in Steve's steps.

He didn't stop walking, just threw a sideways glance at him.

“Your relationship with Namor was complicated,” he said, “but then again, I'm pretty sure Namor has never had anything not-complicated in his life.”

Jim nodded, not really knowing what to do of this and wondering what, exactly, Steve meant by 'complicated'.

“You were probably Namor's closest friend though, and you're the only person he's ever tolerated. You guys used to have coffee together at least once a week.”

Steve eyes got a little distant, and his lips curled into that little smile people got every time they thought about Jim before he had gotten his brains bashed in. This expression always made him uncomfortable and feel like he was intruding.

“You know, it's funny that you're bringing this up,” finally said Steve when he got back to present times, “because I wanted to talk to you about how distant he has been.”

Jim hummed and grabbed a packet of oreos when they passed in front of it, the gesture totally compulsive – and Doctor Horton had said that it was normal, that sometimes his body would act on memory that his mind couldn't recall, and that he didn't have to worry.

“He hasn't been here much for the past few months, I think he had trouble with his family back home, but Jackie told me that he hasn't seen or talked to you once since the day at the hospital.”

“That's true,” replied Jim.

In fact, he had mostly pushed Namor to the very edge of his mind ever since he had started to live this new life. There were already too many things he had to worry about, and one guy who had done nothing but scowl at him for an hour while he was at the hospital wasn't about to be part of that list. Hadn't it been for Jacqueline, Jim would have probably never brought him up, or even thought about him.

“That's weird,” said Steve, frowning. “He went to the hospital almost every single day when you were in a coma. I'm pretty sure he was here when you woke up too.”

Jim tried to remember, but his first moments awake were hazy, _at best_ , and all he could recall from them were a lot of panic on his part, and several voices talking as strong hands clasped his.

“I'm just asking because Jackie brought his car to my garage for me to repair it, and I'm not sure he'd be very happy with that.”

Steve chuckled at that.

“Trust me, if there's one person he'd trust with his car, it'd be you.”

Jim _really_ didn't know what to think of that.

 

 

***

 

 

The black Audi R8 was gorgeous, and Jim spent at least ten minutes just sitting behind the wheel and savoring everything about it.

The car's paint was matte, the interior impeccable, and apart from the CD that started playing as soon as he turned the ignition on, it looked like the car had gotten straight out of the dealership.

He spent half an hour looking for a problem with the car without finding anything and, with a sigh, realized that taking the engine apart was the only way to find the problem.

He pondered for a moment, wondering if calling Namor was the thing to do in that case, since he didn't even know if Jacqueline had asked him before taking the car, before deciding to send a quick text, which seemed a lot less stressful and quicker.

Unfortunately, Jim hadn't counted on his stupid brain to fail him once his hands were clean and he was holding his phone, staring at the keyboard.

He had no idea what to say.

 _Hey I'm gonna have to take your car apart, is it fine by you?_ sounded weird. And way too casual.

 _Good morning this is Jim Hammond_ he started typing, before deleting it, because as much as he didn't know a single thing about this Namor, that wasn't the case for him, and being too polite was the best way to make things awkward.

 _I don't know if Jacqueline told you, but she brought your car to my garage_ he then started, and found it good enough to continue, explaining that he was going to need to take the engine out, and it was going to take a lot of time, and was he okay with it? He even signed with a simple ' _Jim_ ' in case Namor didn't have his number anymore, and sent the text without giving himself time to think it over.

Once it was done he set his phone down on the closest flat surface he could find, a weird churning feeling in his chest, and decided to go bury himself inside the rust-covered Ford.

 

 

***

 

 

A reply only came once he had closed shop for the day and was making his way home, having opted for going to work by foot that morning because the weather was nice.

 _Do what you have to do._ said the text, and if there was one thing Toro had taught him, it was that periods at the end of texts were _never_ good news.

He wondered what that meant all through the evening, and then some more once he went to bed.

 

 

***

 

 

 

“So,” said Toro with a sigh, burying his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket and looking up at the clear blue sky.

His hair had cobber and auburn highlights in the sunlight and it sometimes caught Jim right in the chest, how much his son looked nothing like him apart from the blue eyes.

Jim had been too nervous to really ask about his mother, and the details Toro had freely shared were sketchy at bed. All he knew was that he had never been married to her, she was the one who had given Toro his olive skin, black hair and cutting cheekbones, and she was now dead. He didn't how, and that didn't really matter. Toro never referred to her, and had assured Jim on one occasion that his period of mourning was all done for.

That didn't stop Jim from feeling guilty, because sometimes Toro would stare at him, thinking that Jim wouldn't see, with the face of someone who had almost lost a parent for the second time, and that kind of loss, that seemed unbearable, even for someone with no memories of his own parents.

“So?” asked Jim when the teen didn't continue.

“You've been weird,” replied Toro, not circling around the issue for longer than a minute, as usual. “So spill. What is it?”

Jim sent him a sideways glance before looking away when Toro turned to meet his eyes.

When Jim had gotten out of the hospital and had discovered the dusty and sad little house he lived in, he had realized that Toro had been left by himself for five months – well, not exactly, since Steve had made arrangements to take him in during that time, but Toro had almost _lost_ his father, and hadn't known if he would ever get him back, and somehow that had only registered to Jim as he had watched Toro ramble about who used to do what chores and how to work their ancient washing-machine as he was unpacking a huge suitcase.

The suitcase had held nothing but twelve different outfits, as many pajamas, enough underwear to last two weeks, a blue toilet bag and one big photo album.

Toro had cried against his shoulder while they had both looked through the photos and for the first time since waking up, Jim had had a real glimpse at the life he had.

The first few pictures had been of a twenty something years old Jim, smiling brightly and dressed badly, and a black haired and gorgeous woman who looked so much like Toro, looking at her had felt like a punch in the guts. The next pictures had been of Toro as a baby, then a toddler, all through the years. More often than not, if someone was on the photo with him, it was Jim, except for one photo where his mother was wearing a wedding dress, beaming as she held Toro on her hip and leaned against a man wearing a tux.

The last third of the album, however, held all the most recent photos. Those where Bucky was sitting next to Toro on the couch of their living-room, both of them looking not older than eleven. There were photos of Steve in horrifyingly ugly sweaters, holding a plate of turkey as large as his shoulders. Photos of Jackie wrinkling her nose as Bucky and Toro kissed her on the cheeks. Photos of Brian and Jim, standing side by side in their police uniform. One, lonely photo of Namor, scowling and looking away from the camera while Jim was standing right next to him, shoulder brushing his, and showing off all of his teeth with his smile.

The last photo of the album, though, was standing out compared to the others, and Jim had known that this was the one Toro had spent the most time watching. It had been printed out on regular white paper, and the colors were smudged on the left upper corner, but that didn't really matter compared to what the photo showed.

It was a selfie, that had been taken by Toro, judging by the way his arm was angled on the photo. He had his other arm around Jim's shoulders, and their head were close together as they both grinned at the camera, looking happy.

Toro had told him, tears and snot running down his face and curled up so tight into a ball against Jim's side, he had looked like he was ten instead of fifteen, that the photo had been taken only days before The Accident, during Toro's birthday. He hadn't said much more, like where they had gone to or what they had done for his birthday, but it hadn't mattered as Jim had wrapped both of his arms around the shaking teenager and had held him as he had sobbed his relief and sorrow against his t-shirt.

Jim had no idea why he was suddenly remembering all of that, but he wrapped an arm around Toro's shoulders nonetheless and smirked when his son rolled his eyes and pretended to complain.

“Stop it, and answer my question!” he whined, half pouting and half giggling.

Jim smiled at that, because putting a smile on Toro's face was always something he was proud of, but he also didn't try to dodge his question either.

“I've just been wondering about my past relationships with people.”

Toro raised an eyebrow at that and finally stopped squirming under Jim's arm, settling against his side and gently knocking his arm against his ribs every two steps they took.

“If you're wondering about a girlfriend, I can assure you that you had none.”

“Good to know,” flatly said Jim, rolling his eyes, “but that's not what I'm wondering about.”

“What then?”

“I… I want to know if I was friend with Namor.”

Eyebrows climbing up his face, Toro sent him a surprised look and pursed his lips for a minute.

“Namor huh?”

Jim nodded, feeling himself heat up a little around the collar for unknown reasons. After all, he had nothing to be ashamed or feel shy about. Hell, he didn't even remember exactly what that Namor guy really looked like apart from fuzzy memories of the hospital and that photo.

“Well...” started Toro, eyes turning back to the blue sky above them, “You guys were best friends, as much as Namor does best friends anyway. You hanged out together a lot, you even had that weird coffee date thing every Thursday mornings, and he would have diner with us all the time.”

“Steve said he was at the hospital everyday.”

“Oh yeah,” nodded Toro, “every time I got there after school, he was already with you, talking and reading and you know...” he shrugged a shoulder, “just hanging out. He was there when you woke up too, but he left a little while after Doctor Horton told us that your memories would likely...”

He didn't finish, didn't say “never come back”, because even though it was true and Jim had made peace with that a long time ago, it was still hard on Toro.

Jim squeezed his shoulders softly, earning a tiny smile for that, and pondered over what Toro had just said for a moment, before deciding that everything about Namor was plain strange.

“I haven't seen him since the day I woke up though, isn't that…

“Weird?” Jim nodded and Toro only shrugged. “It's Namor, he's always been weird and kinda intense about stuff, and I guess seeing his BFF not remember him was hard. He texts me from time to time, you know, to ask about how we are and stuff, and I'm pretty sure if you called him and invited him over he wouldn't say no.”

Jim only frowned at that, and quickly changed subject, because he wasn't sure he actually wanted to see Namor yet.

And the weirdest thing about it, was that he didn't even know why.

 

 

***

 

 

Jim didn't remember anything from his life before waking up at the hospital, but somehow, there were things that he just _knew_. Doctor Horton had assured him that it was perfectly normal but unfortunately didn't mean anything about the future – about whether he would ever have his memory back – and had only been able to offer him a comforting smile and a warm handshake.

The most frustrating thing about it, though, was that those things he knew were totally innocent and didn't help him the least in his day to day life.

For example, he knew that Toro had gotten his surname while still an infant because from his third month of life until his third birthday, he had taken to headbutt people to salute them. It had been Toro's mom who had first called him that, the Spanish word rolling off her tongue with an ease that Jim could only dream off, and it had stayed, even as their son had grown up and gotten over that phase.

Another thing he knew was that the bakery right on the corner of the street where Jackie used to live in London made the best muffins he had ever tasted in his entire life. He didn't even know why he had been to Jackie's place, and in England at that, but he knew those muffins were to die for.

That day, when he walked in the public library, he knew that the scratchy carpet left angry-red burn marks even through denim after only four minutes and that the shelves at the very back of the library, the ones holding the books on aquatic life and the likes, grated and squeaked whenever someone leaned on them and that the librarian had probably gotten the show of her life because of him.

It made his cheeks flame in shame, especially when he realized that one of the librarians, a petite woman with a dizzying waist to hip ratio and curls falling chaotically around her face and on her shoulders, was staring and blushed all the way down to her neck when their gaze met.

Jim looked down at his feet, hunched his shoulder, and walked quicker than before.

 _It was ridiculous!_ Especially since he didn't even remember who he had defied the library with, and had no idea whether it was something he did often or not – and there was _no way_ he'd ask Steve. Or, god help him, Jacqueline.

He slammed the books he had brought back for Toro on the desk for returned books and got out of there as quickly as he could, cursing the whole universe in the privacy of his mind the whole way back home.

 

 

***

 

 

“You know,” said Jackie between two bits of oreos that Jim hadn't even touched after buying and she had somehow found, “You really need to get out more.”

She was sitting on the hood of the R8, cross-legged and looking as impeccable as the car in the middle of Jim's oil-strained and messy garage. Some days, he was jealous of the fact that no matter how many times she came in and touched stuff, she never got dirty the way Jim got by just stepping into the building.

“Why?” he asked, squinting down at what was supposed to be the cylinder head of the Ford. It mostly looked like a giant pile of rotting metal pieces, and not for the first time he wondered _how_ in the hell the owner of that car had managed to drive it to the garage. It made absolutely no sense that this thing would still work.

“ _Please_ ,” scoffed Jacqueline, “Have you looked at a mirror recently? I can _smell_ the celibacy from twenty kilometers. You need to get out and have _fun_.”

Jim stopped squinting for a second to roll his eyes, before praying that his vaccines were up to date and getting his hands into all the rust.

“And don't try to ignore me,” she added after five minutes of silence, “I won't let this go.”

“I'll probably die of tetanus before you find someone to set me up with,” he replied.

She scoffed again and bit down on another oreo.

The city was big enough that not everyone knew each other, but the story of a cop being beaten half to death and miraculously surviving but losing his memory in the process wasn't the kind to be ignored by local news. There was always a number of people who recognized him and offered pitying looks and smiles and, on one very strange occasion, a tight and extremely awkward hug.

Toro had laughed to tears at that one, so Jim had forgiven the old woman, but _still_.

“You'd be surprised,” replied Jackie.

She wiggled her eyebrows when he emerged from under the Ford's hood with a grunt, and he rolled his eyes again since she could see it this time.

“I'm very content with my state of celibacy for now, thank you very much. The last thing I need is dating.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and finally uncrossing her legs to slide down the car and on the floor, “because I know _just_ the right person for you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Life's already messy enough without adding someone to the mix.”

“Got problems with Toro?”

He shook his head and grabbed mid-air the somewhat clean rag she threw at him and started rubbing the crusts of rust off his fingers.

“It's just complicated,” he said, keeping his eyes turned to his hands, “he tries not to, but he still has expectations and I can't live up to them and… well, sometimes, it's like he forgets about me and says something that I should get, except that I _don't_ and he looks _so_ _disappointed_.”

Jackie didn't say anything, and when Jim found the courage to look up at her, she was giving him _The_ Look she always gave him in those moments. The one that freely showed, just for once, how brokenhearted she truly was, and helpless, and _sorry_.

It was a look that always made the knot in his chest feel suddenly tighter and, without even having to think about it, Jim crossed the few cluttered steps separating them to hug her close and tight.

She wrapped her arms around him without hesitation, her pointy chin digging into his left shoulder and her hair tickling his nose, and he closed his eyes against the burning prickling behind them, feeling like the worst monster to ever walk on Earth when she suspiciously sniffed.

They stayed like that for a long moment. Him, covered in oil and rust and probably smelling terrible. Her, in her beige ensemble, smelling of expensive perfume and acting, for once, as vulnerable as she had the right to be.

When she stepped away from his embrace, her eyes were dry, although a little red on the edges, and her outfit bare of any oil-stain.

“Do you use witchcraft to keep your clothes so clean all the time?” he couldn't help but ask, brows furrowed, making her burst into laughter.

 

 

***

 

 

Toro spent so much time sauntering around the house without a shirt on, Jim now knew his soulmark almost as well as his own.

The black, barely readable letters were curving on his left shoulder blade, the first words his soulmate ever spoke to him: _What kind of name is that?_ It was funny, especially if you knew who Toro's soulmate was – and even if no one had told him, Jim wasn't stupid and Bucky never hide the letters on his left arm, ' _You think Bucky's better?_ '. Really, most days Jim wondered what the hell they were doing and why they didn't just accept the fact that maybe, _just maybe_ , their soulbond wasn't platonic.

“You know,” he said to his son when Toro didn't move from the kitchen's floor or stop pouting for twenty minutes straight, “maybe you should broaden your horizon. Look for someone else if Ann _really_ doesn't want to hear about you anymore.”

Toro turned a glare on him.

Jim raised an eyebrow.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” huffed Toro, turning his head so he was back to moodily looking at the fridge.

“I think you do,” replied Jim, before joining him on the floor and pressing his shoulder against his.

Toro huffed again, but he leaned his head against Jim's shoulder instead of replying, and it was the best – and only – agreement he would get.

 

 

***

 

 

Jim was staring at the R8's gear case with heavy eyelids and a long, heavy sigh.

If the Ford didn't do it first, that car was going to be the death of him.

He didn't know how Namor had managed to slightly fuck up _every single part_ of his car, but he had, and it was slowly driving Jim crazy. Really, there wasn't _one_ piece of the engine that wasn't slightly crooked, or missing a bolt or had a faulty lip seal. It was almost like he had done it on purpose, but considering the commitment it would take to do that, Jim doubted it.

Maybe the car had been like that ever since Namor had bought it.

The thing that was sure though, as Jim finally put down his screwdriver and gritted his teeth so he wouldn't start screaming his head off in frustration, was that it would take him a lot longer to get the car back on the road than the estimated week he had told Namor.

Which meant that he had to send another text to let him know.

He didn't let himself think too much about it this time, sending off a simple _Hey, I'm sorry but I think it's going to take a lot longer to repair your car_

The reply, this time, was almost immediate: _It's fine, take your time_

No period at the end. No hello either.

Weirdly, it made Jim smile slightly at his phone before he had to put it back down and go back to work.

 

 

***

 

 

“C'mon,” muttered Bucky around the pencil resting between his clenched teeth.

Toro squinted a little more at his notebook to that, the frown on his face deep enough that it was wrinkling his forehead, and Bucky heaved a long sigh before snatching the notebook right from his hands, took the pencil from between his teeth and used it to scratch something down on it.

When he was finished, he slapped the notebook back down in front of Toro, who just continued to frown at it, making the other teenager roll his eyes.

“Seriously Toro, it's not _that_ hard!”

“Say that again the next time you come begging me to help you with your French homework.”

Bucky huffed, but judging by the smirk on his face he had a salacious joke to make on that – that he thankfully didn't say aloud, probably because Jim was sitting not far away, but Toro obviously knew what he wanted to say, because after meeting Bucky's eyes he rolled his eyes but snorted.

“Shut up,” he said, failing at biting down on a smile.

“I didn't say anything!” protested Bucky, raising his hands in surrender.

“Yeah right, whatever,” replied Toro, rolling his eyes again and looking down at his notebook.

Bucky gave a goofy smile at that and they didn't stop sending small and totally unsubtle glances every two seconds when they thought the other wasn't watching.

It kind of made Jim sick, all that teenaged and innocent love, but it was probably just because he was old and bitter.

 

 

***

 

 

Jim was seeing Doctor Horton about every two weeks to work on his memory. They did exercises to train Jim's memory, and some to try to make him remember something, and if he was being honest with himself, Jim thought that it was absolutely pointless. He had made almost no progress in ten months, and really didn't see how sniffing things and looking at pictures was helping him.

He was proven wrong that very week, thirty minutes into his appointment.

“What does it remind you?” asked Doctor Horton, holding up his tablet displaying a photo of a man eating an ice-cream.

“Mexico,” replied Jim without really thinking about it.

Doctor Horton frowned and gestured for him to continue.

“I went there with Toro and his mom, back when he was uh… five, I think?” he said, pausing a second to think about it and – _miraculously_ , without him even realizing – to remember. “Yeah, he was five, and it was the first time we ever traveled. He liked it so much there, he didn't want to leave the beach in the evening, and the only way we got him to go back to the hotel with us was by bribing him with ice-cream,” he said, a tiny smile curling the corner of his lips.

Doctor Horton straightened up in his chair, slowly put the tablet down on his desk and asked, very slowly:

“What else do you remember?”

“I don't remember anything that's why I'm here in the first place,” started Jim, frowning, before it hit him like a sucker punch–

He had just remembered with perfect clarity his first family vacation.

“Oh my god...” he murmured, gaping at his doctor, not daring believing it, “Did I just...”

“Yes, you just did,” replied Doctor Horton, smiling. “What else?”

“I… I remember Toro's mother. Her name was Nora. She was a scientist, and she died of cancer when Toro was ten. He used to live with her, until she became too sick, that's why I moved back here, so he could see her at the hospital.”

“Excellent,” murmured Doctor Horton, taking quick notes, “anything else?”

“Toro's favorite color is green, he's scared of cows, and his favorite food is those disgusting spaghetti I make,” said Jim, suddenly on a roll, “His birthday is coming up, and last year his gift from me was an Ipod. He loved it so much, he spent the following week with his earbuds glued to his ears. He's always asking me for a dog, because he's obsessed with golden retrievers for some reason, and he wants to name his dog Torch. His favorite movie is High School Musical and I had to force him to not get the same haircut as the guy in it, which probably saved his future-self from a lot of embarrassing photos, but he doesn't like it when I say that.”

He stopped then, because suddenly he could recall _so much_. Like Toro's first time walking and the tears of joy that had brought him, the last time before The Accident Toro had hugged him, the one time he had almost set the house on fire by putting aluminum in the microwave.

Jim blinked at sudden tears, overwhelmed by the relief that came with all those memories.

“I remember my son,” he said, voice breaking at the end of the sentence as Doctor Horton just nodded and offered him a beaming smile.

Maybe there was hope.

 

 

***

 

 

When Jim got home, Toro was laying on the couch in pajamas, watching cartoons, and absentmindedly saluted him when Jim walked into the living-room and slowly sat down on the armchair.

“Tom, we need to talk,” he said, hands shaking ever-since he remembered about his son.

Toro jumped at the name, because Jim was pretty sure he had never called him anything other than his surname since he had woken up, and he turned anxious blue eyes to him, sitting up on the couch.

“Yeah?” he asked, sounding fragile and younger than he was.

“I remember you.”

Wide-eyed, Toro opened him mouth, before closing it without saying a word, and bit down on his trembling lower lip, starting to tear up as he ran a nervous hand through his hair.

“What… What do you mean you remember me?”

Starting to smile brightly – and totally starting to cry a little – Jim got up and joined him on the couch to engulf him into a tight hug.

“I mean I remember _everything_ about you. Every last detail.”

Toro sobbed against his shoulder and hugged back as tight as he could and just like that, all was right again.

 

 

***

 

 

Another miracle happened just the very next day, when Jim woke up to discover a change in his soulmark.

_I woul_ _**d** _ _have never pictured a guy like y_ _**o** _ _u i_ _**n** _ _a place like_ _**t** _ _hat_

Jim stared, for a long moment, not understanding why only four letters of his mark were back to being black, before it hit him that it now spelled the word _don't_.

He took one second to do a victory dance, before he was running to his phone and calling Jacqueline, feeling like he could spent another three hours just crying in joy.

 

 

***

 

 

After an entire day spent celebrating with Toro, Jacqueline, Steve and Bucky, Jim went to bed, plugged his phone in to charge it, and finally realized that he had received a text from Namor during the day.

Surprised, because he really didn't think Namor had anything to tell him, he opened it and read it with furrowed eyebrows.

_Toro told me about your memories of him and I'm glad it came back. You both deserve some happiness_

Jim stared at the words for a long moment – long enough that his screen deemed, then blacked out, and by the time he finally blinked his confusion away and unlocked his phone again, he still didn't know what to think of it. Or how to answer.

 _Thanks_ he typed in after a full minute of pondering _I wish you could have been here to celebrate with us_

After all, if they were close enough that Toro would text him about things like that, there was really no reason he shouldn't have been with them that day.

 _Maybe next time_ was the reply he got, a minute later.

Jim smiled at the text, liking the sound of that.

 

 

***

 

 

Toro's birthday was spent inside, with the two of them hanging out in front of the TV all day long. Toro had refused any present from Jim, declaring that him having his memories of Toro back was enough, and Jim hadn't been able to help himself when he had teared up and engulfed him into a tight hug.

Now, two days later, as he stepped into his garage for the first time since he had remembered his son, everything seemed slightly different. Clearer. As if he'd needed glasses all this time and had finally put them on for the first time. It was a weird feeling.

“So,” said Bucky, who was already sitting inside the garage, a straw linking his mouth to a Capri Sun as he glanced up from his phone to send a quick happy look his way.

“Aren't you supposed to be at school?” asked Jim, grabbing his overall and walking to the tiny bathroom he used as a changing room. “And how the hell did you get in?”

“Having a potted plan right next to the door is a dead give-away,” replied Bucky before loudly sucking on the straw.

Rolling his eyes, Jim closed the bathroom door behind him, knowing that the teenager could be difficult if he wanted and there wasn't really a way for Jim to get him away before he got what he had came for.

Unsurprisingly, Bucky didn't move, speak or even spare him a glance when Jim got out of the bathroom, overall on and ready for a new day at work, and started working on the Ford.

It lasted for about an hour, with Bucky loudly sucking through three Capri Sun before he had found the rest of the uneaten Oreos and had started to devour them. Had it been anyone else, Jim would have been worried, but Bucky had been over enough time for him to know that there was absolutely nothing that would stop him from eating. It was like he had a never ending pit instead of a stomach – and Jim would have said that he had gotten it from Steve, had they been biologically related.

“Hey you know,” finally said Bucky after Jim had spent ten whole minutes cursing the damn car before finally managing to remove a huge chunk of rust, “you and I kinda know each other a lot.”

“Really?” asked Jim, wondering, not for the first time, if that car would give him tetanus.

It would be a pretty ridiculous death, considering that he had survived getting his brains bashed in and being left for dead in a shady alley.

“Yeah, and I know it doesn't mean much, since you don't really remember and all...”

Sighing internally, because the car didn't look like it was going to be his only challenge of the day, Jim straightened up, grabbed the closest rag to wipe the orange rust off his fingers, and turned to face Bucky, who was looking down at his feet and had bright red cheekbones.

That had Jim frown and take a step closer to him, because he was pretty sure he had never seen Bucky blush before, and unless he had suddenly gotten shy about his Capri Sun devouring, he also had absolutely no reason to blush.

“Bucky, what's going on?” he asked, putting the rag down and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I uh...” He trailed off a second time to bite down on his lip, sent a very quick and shy glance up at Jim, and nervously brushed a strand of hair that had gotten out of his ponytail away from his eyes. “Okay, so, I'm gonna tell you something, and you have to promise that you're not going to be mad at me.”

“I promise,” said Jim when Bucky stared even though he was nodding.

“Alright.” He took a deep breath in, held it in for a second before sighing it out. “Alright, so. I am Toro's soulmate.”

“Okay,” replied Jim, nodding again.

“And he is mine.”

“I got that too.”

“And I want to pursue our soulbond. Romantically.”

“Alright.”

Bucky just stared.

“What do you mean, alright? Aren't you mad or something?”

Jim frowned and uncrossed his arms to put his fists on his hips.

“What do yo mean, mad? Do I have a reason to be?”

“What?! No, of course no! I just mean… aren't you surprised? And don't you want him to be with a uh… a nice lady?”

Jim tried really hard not to snort, he really did, but Bucky's wide-eyed fear and the term 'lady' was just too much.

“You guys aren't shy about your soulmarks and I'm not stupid. Also, I'm pretty sure you shouldn't let Toro hear you suggest that I have any say in who he chooses to be with.”

Bucky still didn't move, and with a last look at the rust covered engine of the Ford, Jim decided that mechanics could wait for an hour or two as he crossed the garage to join Bucky, determined to have Toro and him stop running around each other by the end of the day.

 

 

***

 

 

“I really wasn't expecting that from you,” said Jacqueline that evening after he had told her everything.

“I wasn't expecting that from me either, but there's a certain amount of teenage pining I can take, and this was really starting to be too much.”

She chuckled, because Jackie never snorted, and took a sip of her expensive British beer.

Jim took advantage of that to look around the bar for the fourth time already, feeling as awkward in such a snobbish place as the three last times he had looked. Everyone was drinking expensive drinks and wearing expensive looking clothes, and there he was with his coke and old jeans, sticking out like a sore thumb. He didn't even know why Jackie had insisted for them to go to this place, and it was pretty hard to tell her no once she had made her decision.

“Anyway,” she said, bringing his attention back to her, “what about _your_ soulmark. Aren't you going to do something about it?”

“What am I supposed to do? Engage every stranger I see in a conversation?”

Jackie raised an eyebrow and let her own eyes roam over the room instead of commenting, taking another sip of her beer.

Sighing, Jim hunched over himself a little more and picked up his glass of coke, suddenly feeling very tired after a long day at work and two hours of prep-talk and reassurance for Bucky.

“Oh,” said Jackie, straightening up a little on her chair and looking at something over Jim's shoulder, “Namor is here.”

Jim was turning around and looking for him before even registering that he was moving, and when his eyes fell on a black haired, fair-skinned man with diamond cutting cheekbones who looked exactly like the man in his photo album and vaguely like the one who had been at the hospital next to his bed, he couldn't help but stare.

He had imagined him smaller, and maybe it had to do with the black suit he was wearing, but his shoulders looked larger than on the photo, but all in all, there was no denying that Namor was stunning, even though Jim could only see his profile and the man seemed to be sending a flat look at the platinum blonde woman sitting in front of him.

“He's looking really good,” commented Jackie.

Jim hummed, and took another moment to just drink him in.

“I don't remember him being so tall,” he said, turning back to face Jackie and feeling sheepish at the look she gave him.

She laughed at him instead of offering an answer.

 

 

***

 

 

It took Jim another entire week, but he did it.

He fixed the R8.

“Do you really have to make that face?” asked Toro, frowning slightly from his perch on Bucky's lap.

The two of them had taken to hang out at the garage all the time now that school was over for the holidays, and Jim still wasn't sure if he found the two of them constantly hugging and looking at the other like he had hung the Moon cute or nauseating, but at least seeing his son happy was helping boost his moral, and so there he was, standing in front of the fully functioning Audi, still not quite believing it.

He had managed to get to all of the slightly fucked up parts of the car, and it was now fixed.

He had to call Namor and tell him to come pick up his newly repaired car.

That made him nervous, strangely, and no matter how much he tried to think of reasons to be nervous about Namor, nothing came up. Nothing at all. Which made it even weirder, because according to everyone Namor and him had been best friends before The Accident, and even though Namor hadn't talked or seen him once since he had left the hospital, Jim didn't resent him. In fact he totally understood the need to put distance between the two of them – now that he had partially gotten some memories back, he couldn't imagine what it felt like to have someone so close to you not remember who you are.

So there he was, with a fully functioning car, and knots in his stomach, palms clamming at the idea of calling Namor for once instead of texting.

This was _ridiculous_ , he decided as he grabbed his phone and looked through his contacts.

He still felt relieved when Namor didn't answer and he just sent him a text in the end, telling him that he could come by the garage anytime he wanted to take his car back.

 

 

***

 

 

After an entire week, Namor still hadn't replied to Jim's text or showed up at the garage, and Jim was now sure that he would never come and Jackie would be the one taking the car back and bringing it to him. To say that it was disappointing was an understatement, but life had to go on and Jim did his best to push it to the very back of his mind and forget about the bitter taste of frustration on his tongue every time he thought about it.

He was presently at the grocery story, where his teenage son had forced him to go because he was apparently “craving something nice to eat. And rice doesn't count as nice food papì!” and now that he was blankly staring at rows upon rows of cookies and other sugary food, Jim had to admit that he would pay a lot of money to be anywhere else.

Mostly by instinct, he reached for the Oreos, because even though he hadn't touch the ones he had bought, Bucky had devoured them with so much enthusiasm, he knew they wouldn't go to waste.

Cold fingers wrapped around his wrist just as he grabbed the packet and he let it fall as he jumped in surprise and turned to look at who was touching him.

“Don't.” Was the only thing the man said, looking right into his eyes.

Jim blinked, heart hammering in his chest.

“For some reason you always buy Oreos, even though you hate it, and Steve gets mad at you when Bucky eats them all and gets sick.”

Jim tried to say something, he really did, but the blue eyes looking right through him were making it hard to think, or breathe too actually, and it took him an embarrassing long minute for his brain to finally click because _Namor_ was standing in front of him, and talking to him, and still holding his wrist and it was a little too much at once.

“I didn't think I would ever meet you,” was what he finally managed to say in a weird exhale.

Namor frowned and let go of his wrist as if he'd been burned.

“What?” he snapped.

“I've been texting you, about your car, and you're never coming to Steve's barbecues. I didn't think I would ever get to finally see you.”

Namor just blinked at him and opened and closed his mouth several times without speaking.

He looked weird, less put together than at the bar, and when Jim took a step in his direction, he stepped back, looking more and more panicked as the seconds passed.

“My car. Where is it?”

“Uh, at the garage.”

Namor was gone before Jim could ask him why he was asking.

 

 

***

 

 

It dawned on him like a ton of brick just as he was entering the garage and finding the spot where the R8 had been empty.

Namor's first face to face word to him since he had woken up from his coma had been _don't_.

Jim ran to the bathroom, threw his t-shirt off and stared at his soulmark like an idiot. The four black letters were still here, looking even darker than usual under the pale light above the sink, and Jim had to splash his face with cold water before gripping the sink and doing some breathing exercise to stop an impending panic attack from happening.

It seemed like he had a soulmate, after all.

 

 

***

 

 

Toro only spared one quick glance at Jim before telling him that he probably should sleep at Bucky's that night. He packed a bag, squeezed Jim tightly, and left him to his torments.

Most days, Jim was still extremely surprised by how his son could take one look at him and read on his face exactly what it was that he needed – and that night he didn't fail him, because Jim _did_ need to be alone and think about everything.

Jim, after taking all of his clothes off and only putting sweatpants on, dug the photo album out of the place Toro had hidden it, and spent way too long staring at the lone photo of Namor, wondering what the hell was going to happen now, and who had been his soulmate before, if it had been Namor – which seemed unlikely, unless the soulbond hadn't been reciprocated, but judging by Namor's hasty retreat, Jim doubted it.

After about an hour of looking at the stupid photo and finding absolutely nothing, Jim grabbed his laptop and decided to cyber stalk him. Toro had showed him his facebook account some months ago, and Jim was relieved to find he was Namor's friend, but the other man didn't seem to like social media that much considering that the only things posted on his wall were cat videos Steve had tagged him on, and his profile picture from two years before.

Looking through twitter proved to be harder than Toro made it look and utterly frustrating since he found absolutely no trace of Namor, and for the life of him Jim couldn't remember the name of the app his son used all the time to post selfies and photos of Bucky's crazy hair styles.

Growing more and more frustrated as the minutes ticked by, Jim ended up turning his laptop off in sheer anger and pushing it away with a little more force than was necessary.

With nothing to do and absolutely no new knowledge of his soulmate, he decided to be an adult about it and put some stupid romcom on the TV and brood about it until he fell asleep on the couch.

He was woken up a movie and a half later by someone loudly pounding on his front-door.

Groggy, grumbling and almost tripping on the coffee-table, Jim reached the door and threw it open without a thought for who it might be so late at night.

The sight of Namor, standing on his porch and looking absolutely stunning in a soft blue shirt that made his eyes all the more intense had him instantly wake up.

For a long moment, they just looked at each other, Namor's face totally stony while Jim could feel his cheekbones heat up and his heart pounding in his ears, before Namor finally pushed past him into the living-room and, without a single glance backward, walked to the couch.

Jim closed the door, leaned back on it, and watched as the other man stopped between the coffee-table and the couch, turned to face him and, insanely, started taking his shirt off.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Jim, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that _he_ was bare-chested, with his mostly-faded out soulmark on display and that Namor's eyes kept on drifting down to his collarbone before drifting back up to his face.

“Shut up, I finally understood something and you need to know about it.” Namor didn't even look at where he threw his shirt, opening his pants and pulling them down without losing a second instead, his eyes still not leaving Jim. “It's going to sound so stupid once you understand, but I need to _show_ you.”

Jim just nodded, throat drying up as Namor kicked his pants, shoes and socks away, and hooked his thumbs over the elastic of his boxers.

“Uh,” tried to say Jim, growing hot around the collar and not knowing where to look, because on one hand he was pretty sure soulmate or not, seeing Namor naked was probably not the thing to do during a first serious talk with him, but at the same times his abs looked absolutely perfect, and his fingers were itching to run down all those tone muscles.

“I'm your soulmate, Jim,” announced Namor, apparently not realizing that the blond was in the middle of a mental conflict. “We met about a decade ago, at a gala to raise funds for the police forces.” He turned so his right side was facing Jim, and pushed the side of his boxers down.

Jim blinked down at the white letters running down his hip and upper thigh.

_I'm under dressed, ain't I?_

It fitted his own soulmark perfectly, and he couldn't help but feel his heart squeeze at that.

“But Steve and Toro said we weren't soulmates...” he murmured, feeling a little numb when Namor wouldn't meet his eyes.

He turned so his left side was facing him instead of replying, and pushed his boxers down again, revealing this time a black mark.

_I didn't think I would ever meet you_

This mark didn't have the same handwriting, and Jim had never even thought about his handwriting changing because of his memory loss. Hell, he hadn't even thought having a soulmate was possible.

“I refused to pursue our bond because I have two marks, and you deserve someone entirely committed to you,” said Namor, pushing his boxers back up and taking a step in Jim's direction. “I never thought… My mark turned white one day, that's how I knew something had happened to you, and since you were in a coma I never thought you'd wake up, but you did and you didn't remember anything...”

Jim could see him swallow with difficulty all the way from the other side of the room and he too took a step closer to Namor without even realizing, feeling like he _had_ to get closer to him.

“I didn't think that other mark would be you too… the handwriting's different, and I'm pretty sure that has never happened before, and it was too hard to see you like that at the hospital, not even recognizing your own son. I had to distance myself, because I couldn't take it.”

“My soulmark was totally white when I woke up,” said Jim, taking another step up, and another one, until Namor was walking in his direction too and they had to stop because they were face to face, and Jim had to tilt his chin up a little to be able to look into his eyes. “The letters became black again after I remembered about Toro.”

Namor looked down at the words and reached up to trace them with the tip of an index, making Jim shiver all the way down to his toes, and he couldn't help but smirk proudly at that.

“God, _Jim_ ,” he sighed, letting his hand trail up until he was cupping the back of Jim's neck and playing with the little hairs there, “I can't believe I still get to have you.”

Jim engulfed him into a tight hug, his whole body singing at the feel of Namor's bare skin against his, and the fact that his soulmate was _here_ , in his arms, and totally willing to have him.

He hadn't thought life could feel as right as it felt in that moment.

 

 

***

 

 

Jim woke up to sunlight peeking out through his open curtains and falling right on him. He groaned, rolled over so he was pressed flush against the warm body beside him, and sighed happily when cool fingers started running up and down his spine.

He had gotten rid of the sweatpants and was wearing nothing but boxer shorts, just like Namor, and the feeling of Namor tangling their legs together and pressing back against him was the best thing to wake up to in the whole world.

Nothing had happened the night before, not even a kiss, and Namor had loudly expressed his disdain of Jim's cinematographic preferences for thirty minutes straight, but he had still watched the end of a stupid romcom with him, pressed against his side and their fingers tangled together, and once the movie was finished they had both slipped into Jim's bed without a word and had held onto each other until they had fallen asleep.

Really, Jim couldn't understand how they had spend so much time knowing each other without doing something about their bond. He could barely keep his hands to himself after only eight hours.

“Go back to sleep, it's too early,” groaned Namor when Jim wrapped both arms around his waist and hugged him even closer.

Jim hummed, pressed his nose against Namor's shoulder, and promptly went back to sleep.

 

 

***

 

 

When Jim woke up for the second time, it was to an empty bed and muffled voices coming from somewhere else in the apartment. He took a moment to just lay there and _be_ , feeling more at peace than he could remember ever being, and only moved when the smell of pancakes drifted off from the kitchen to the bedroom.

Sitting at the kitchen table was Namor, wearing a too large t-shirt that was Jim's – and he had to force himself to keep a normal face and not let the fact that that sight had made his heart skip a beat show. Considering Toro's raised eyebrow when he turned away from the stove to send him a look and the amused curve of Namor's lips, he duped absolutely no one.

“So papì, pancakes?”

Jim nodded and sat down next to Namor, smiling despite himself when the other man looped his ankle around his.

“How was it at Bucky's?” said Jim, trying to make the situation a little less awkward that it felt.

“Good, how was it here?”

“Great,” said Namor before Jim could reply, and Toro snorted loudly and put a plate of pancakes on the table in front of them.

“Good,” he replied, “now eat.”

Namor's eyes narrowed, but he still picked a pancake up and put it on his plate before delicately pouring maple syrup on it.

“You too papì,” said Toro, crossing his arms when Jim turned to send him a surprised look. “Eat some pancakes.”

Jim was pretty sure there was something he wasn't getting, maybe some joke from his forgotten past, but since Namor didn't seem too concerned and Toro actually looked quite happy, he decided to do just as he was told, and took advantage of the delicious pancakes waiting for him.

Toro seemed content with Jim's decision, because after watching him eat for about a minute or so, he nodded to himself, finally sat down, and started eating too.

“So,” he still said after a beat of silence, “I'd like for you Namor to now start telling papì about all the times we all ended up eating pancakes in the morning, and I tried to convince the two of you that you were soulmates.”

Namor glared at the teenager, who just smiled brightly in return.

“What?” asked Jim, completely lost.

“It's fine if he's shy,” said Toro, turning his beaming smile to him, “I'll tell you.”

Namor groaned loudly and squeezed Jim's knee under the table.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(“Hey,” softly said Jim that night once he was back to laying in bed with Namor, the both of them wearing nothing but their underwear again, “did we have sex at the library once?”

Namor smiled brightly, and Jim felt himself blush.

“If it had only been once...” sighed Namor.

Jim tried to say something back, but the other man gently cup his jaw with a hand and started kissing him instead of letting him speak, and Jim found that he was fine with that.)


End file.
